


Big Love

by thoughtless_dreamer



Series: Backstroke Kicks and Freestyle Flips [8]
Category: Free!
Genre: And Makoto's a little worried muffin, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Body Image, Body Worship, Haru loves Makoto's size, Haru makes it all better, How scandalous, In every aspect, Intercrural Sex, LOL I FORGOT TO DO TAGS, M/M, Makoto is really self-conscious, Nagisa is himself, Shower Sex, Silly me, Smut, They do it in the changing rooms, and as usual, as usual, i love that that's a tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-18
Updated: 2014-11-18
Packaged: 2018-02-26 03:41:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2636687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thoughtless_dreamer/pseuds/thoughtless_dreamer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not that Makoto doesn't feel absolutely loved.  No, Haru has always made sure that Makoto feels completely adored, from his hair to his toes.  It's just a thought, a feeling, something niggling at the back of his mind whenever they change for practice or shop for new swimsuits at the mall. </p><p>So he's self-conscious about his body. Who ever has to know?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Big Love

**Author's Note:**

> So this was written as a request from the darling **edenfire57** and I most certainly hope that she enjoys it! Have a little worried, self conscious Makoto with a hefty helping of all-too-happy-to-body-worship-Haru  <3 
> 
> Also it is Makoto's birthday today (shush, it's still the 17th here for +15 minutes, it still counts <3) so I couldn't NOT write my baby a lil somethin' somethin'~
> 
> Prompt: "you know how makoto is always wearing longer pants (like he never wears shorts that go above the knee) and when he was in that short swimsuit he looked really uncomfortable. so what if makoto is super self concious about his thighs, like he thinks they're too bulky and he's just really insecure about it. and he's always silently fretting about it and haru finds out and he proves to makoto that his legs are beautiful (like a little body worship, I guess) and it's just cute and sweet and nsfw is always preferred! ;D"

It seems innocent enough that it's easy to hide, at the start.

So much so that, _thankfully,_ it isn't something Haru really notices—not at first. In fact, not for years.

After all, how long has Haru known Makoto, and vice versa?

It's not that Makoto doesn't feel absolutely, 100% loved. No, Haru makes sure, has always made sure that Makoto feels completely adored, from his hair to his toes.

From carding his fingers carefully through his soft brown strands while washing it when they're taking a bath together at a hot springs, to tugging Makoto's feet into his lap to toy idly with his toes when they're curled up by themselves to watch anime or a movie before bed on the weekends they're at Haru's (otherwise he delights Ran by helping her tie bows into her big brother's hair, or find an excuse to tickle Makoto's feet while they're watching and playing with the twins on weekends at Makoto's).

Makoto can't believe how much Haru loves him. And he knows it, he really does.

It's not Haru's fault.

It's...it's just a thought. A feeling, really. Something niggling at the back of his mind whenever they're changing for practice, or shopping for new uniforms and jammers at the mall.

And sometimes...sometimes, it’s even there when he's in bed with Haru, and they're eager enough that it's still early enough for fading sunlight to filter weakly in through the blinds, dying the room in soft pinks and oranges.

He loves and hates all of those times. Loves them, because he can see Haru's gorgeous figure, built like he was born to swim. With strong arms, firm abs, a lean back, and his legs, well.

His legs are perfect. Long, like they go on for miles when he's kicking his way through the water, freestyle of course, with thighs tight and trim from swimming every single chance he gets.

Just like Rin, who looks like he was born to work towards his Olympian dream. 

Just like Nagisa, who looks just like the water nymph they jokingly call him when he glides silently through the water to jump up and scare some unwitting team member (usually Gou). 

Even just like Rei, who's trained for years with the intention of becoming a runner yet has just the right build for a swimmer, despite his careful, regimented focus on strengthening his legs.

It's him. Makoto.

 _He's_ the problem. The odd one out.

Makoto knows he's tall. Big. He surprised everyone with that – even his parents marvel and shake their heads over his size, wistfully remembering the way Makoto used to hide in Haru's shadow and chuckling over the way the habit hasn't quite died out, as if it's something Makoto forgets he can't quite do anymore (embarrassingly enough, it is). 

It's the first thing anyone comments on when they meet him—and why wouldn't it be? He's tall!--and still in high school, he might even have a ways to grow! The twins adore it, they love being carried by him, wrapping their arms around his neck and screeching in delight when he runs around giving them piggyback rides or holding them by their hands and swinging them around when they play outside.

Haru loves it, too, even if he doesn't say as much, and _that fact alone_ means he wouldn't trade it for anything. Haru practically swims in Makoto's shirts, though that doesn't stop him from stealing them, and he takes any excuse he can get to touch Makoto's back, silently appreciating his traps and lats, strengthened from his particular brand of stroke. 

And, well...Haru's unabashedly made it very clear, in no uncertain terms that he. Um. He really _really_ enjoys Makoto's. 

Size.

In _every_ regard.

Makoto nearly thought he (and Rei, for that matter) was going to die of embarrassment when Nagisa lovingly coined Haru a size queen during one particularly sudden and raunchy lunchtime argument that Makoto and Rei have silently but resolutely chosen to never speak of again. 

(He actually kind of thinks they may have since bonded over the trauma—it's much harder for things to be awkward between them.)

In any case, it's not that Makoto minds being big! Sure, the “wow you're tall” comments are kind of old, but the good things make up for the annoying ones for the most part (he's finally gotten used to ducking when walking down stairwells and entering foreign rooms, so he figures he's improving).

Well. Actually. If he's being completely honest?

Makoto doesn't mind being tall. He doesn’t even mind being big, for the most part.

He just.

It's just.

It's his thighs.

He doesn't really like them. He absolutely hates them, actually.

It's something no one knows about. Something Makoto has made sure they don't know about.

Because it's _so stupid._ He _knows,_ logically, that he's a big guy, the largest of their team—of course he's going to have bigger thighs. It'd be weirder if he didn't, right?

Unfortunately, knowing that doesn't stop him from being disgustingly self-conscious about them.

He refuses to look in the mirror until he's dressed in the morning—because he's only going to notice _them_ and nothing else.

He makes sure to buy the longest pair of jammers available, and honestly, he would buy a size down just to make himself feel better, if he could get away with it, but Gou makes sure they're all sized right (for optimum performance, _yes,_ he knows).

He does his absolute best to be the first one in and out of the locker rooms to try and get through changing before anyone else joins him—and he tries not to stare jealously at the rest of his team.

It only makes him miserable. He grins and bears Nagisa's playful jibes about being a prude, because it's better than explaining himself.

He...he tries his best to make sure the lights are off wherever he can when he and Haru go to bed. If Haru's noticed, he hasn't said anything, but knowing Haru, he probably just thinks he's saving them the trouble of getting up again after (after all, it's his most common excuse, bashfully ducking his head and stammering about not wanting either of them to get up afterwards, and that's not a lie, it's _true._

It's...just not his _real_ motive).

So he's self-conscious about something. Big deal, right? Isn't everyone?

(Except maybe Haru. His boyfriend is the least self-conscious person he knows, but with good reason.)

He wishes so badly he didn't care—that he could be like Rei and, noticing something he doesn't like, get past the concern and start working to fix it. But he's tried. They're trim as they're going to get.

He's admittedly jealous of Nagisa, and the way he doesn't mind the stares he gets when he steals his sisters' clothes to rock an outfit that stands out when they hang out outside of school.

He wants so much to be like Haru, and not care a bit about other people's perceptions of him, and to be completely comfortable in his skin (apparently, comfortable enough that trying to strip to jump into the next readily available body of water doesn't phase him.)

But he can't. Can't _be_ like any of them. He cares. Cares a _lot._ Too much.

That's his downfall. That's when it starts.

And of course, it happens in front of everybody.

Because that's when somebody enters his name in the Muscle Contest held at the swim club.

Makoto's the most surprised of anyone when he wins at Goro's _Splash Fest._ Everyone's delighted, and they laugh and tease and nudge him and cheer when the points are tallied, and Makoto's in first place, even _with_ Gou giving Rin the most votes. Of course, Makoto grins along with them, blushing and laughing and waving the attention away--

But then they push him up to pose.

In front of everybody.

Makoto wants to faint.

Thank god everyone is focusing on his back muscles, after Nagisa makes that comment about Makoto's _charm point,_ because Makoto manages to get away with just sliding off his jacket and turning away from the audience, clenching his eyes against the blush on his face as everyone whistles and claps. 

He shrugs it back on as soon as the sound starts to die away, and he hightails it out of the center of attention.

He's trembling. He'll have to stop doing that, somehow, before--

“Makoto?”

Makoto winces but tries to disguise it with a startled breath, whirling around to smile broadly at Haru, placing a hand to his chest. “Haru-chan, you startled me,” he chastises breathlessly, his stomach tumbling with relief at the way Haru's face softens.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, before a smile smile tugs at the corner of his lips. “Nice going, winning the competition,” he adds, glancing off to see their two other teammates chatting amicably with Gou and Rin. Makoto lets out an exasperated sound.

“I don't even know how I got entered,” he replies honestly, shaking his head a little in bemusement.

Then Makoto realizes Haru's too quiet.

“Haru,” Makoto starts, and then stops, and really looks at him. “Haru, you _didn't,”_ he reiterates dubiously, a baffled look spreading across his face.

“I knew you'd win,” Haru replies as if they're talking about the weather, shrugging a shoulder dismissively. Makoto chokes, trying to figure out how to reply, but Haru suddenly tacks on an afterthought. “Besides, now everyone knows you're the best catch on our team.”

 _“Haru-chan,”_ Makoto replies, touched and bewildered, and he does his best to keep the smile on his face even though it wants to drop off because _every part of him_ is screaming that _that’s a lie._

“That's not true, it's clearly you,” Makoto replies automatically. Haru preens a little at the volleyed compliment, but looks like he wants to argue, and because Makoto can't help himself, he blabs on. “Besides, if it's not you, it'd be Rei, Nagisa or Rin. Never me.”

Haru kind of freezes. “Makoto,” he says after a beat, blinking a few times at the brunet. “Makoto. Rin isn't even on our team. And you just beat him. You just beat out all of us,” he says slowly, as if explaining something for the umpteenth time to Ren and Ran.

Then Makoto realizes his mistake. He just put _himself down._ In front of his very protective boyfriend.

Haru doesn’ t let anyone get away with that. Least of all, Makoto himself.

Fuck.

“Ahaha, right,” he laughs weakly, scratching the nape of his neck and trying to grin broadly. “I guess I stand corrected.”

But it's too late, and Makoto's heart plummets because.

Because that's the exact moment when Haru starts to notice he's hiding something. Makoto can tell--he’s _always_ been able to read Haru like a book. 

Maybe he hasn't noticed _what_ the problem is, as he can only assume from the way Haru's eyes narrow a little in thought when he's staring at him, but he's realized that something is off.

Makoto should have known better. Haru knows him too well. Once he's realizes Makoto isn't outright telling him something, he'll stop at nothing to figure out what's wrong.

Because, just like he knows Haru, _Haru knows him._ He _knows_ that Makoto has only ever kept things from him that he internalizes. He knows that whatever this is, it runs deep.

But Makoto also knows that Haru, being Haru, will uncover it eventually, with enough patience.

It doesn't even take him two weeks.

That's when Makoto, _impossibly,_ forgets his swim suit.

“I can't believe it,” he moans, staring incredulously down into his bag where he's sitting on a bench in the locker room, and he's mentally beating his head against a wall because _he knew_ it felt suspiciously light. “I forgot to take it out of the laundry last night, I can't believe I'm _so stupid.”_

“It's no biggie, Mako-chan!” Nagisa chirps where he's shamelessly kicking off his pants to tug on his jammers. “I'm sure one of us has one you can borrow! I think I still have that speedo Rei-chan borrowed last year somewhere around here,” he adds with an innocent little smile that somehow still manages to look devious with that glint in his eye.

“The speedo,” Makoto repeats dumbly, staring incredulously at Nagisa. Nagisa just grins back before jumping up to frolic to his locker, winging it open before digging through the inevitable mess of clothes Nagisa leaves behind as the school year progresses.

It suddenly strikes Makoto that Nagisa is being serious.

“A-ah, d-don't worry yourself, Nagisa,” Makoto half laugh, half gasps, “I-I'm sure we can find s-something else--”

“I have a spare,” Haru says bluntly as he pushes the suit into Makoto's lap before he grabs his new favorite one to roll up his legs, the one he bought at their last trip to the mall together at the start of the new year.

Nagisa's pouting from his locker, tiny yellow scrap of fabric held triumphantly in hand, and Makoto offers a small, apologetic smile to try and placate the blond before he glances up to Haru gratefully. Then he really looks at his borrowed suit, and his heart sinks a little.

“Haru-chan,” Makoto asks faintly as Nagisa skips out the door, calling out for Rei, “do you mind if we trade today?”

Haru pauses, hands faltering where he's smoothing out the wrinkles and tugging at the stretchy material at his ankles, tipping his head to the side as he considers Makoto's request. “What's wrong with that one?” Haru asks lightly, but Makoto can hear the suspicion in his words.

“Nothing,” Makoto immediately blurts out, and then immediately wants to bite his tongue, because now Haru is looking at him like he's crazy. He doesn't blame him, either. But then he looks down into his lap again and tries to picture himself in the barely knee-length swimsuit and can't help but open his mouth again.

“There's nothing wrong with it, Haru, I was just. If it's okay. I'd rather. Switch. With you,” he says, stuttering another word out every few seconds, and he closes his eyes and purses his lips because just how awkward can he be, actually?

Haru stares at him incredulously, but he doesn't say anything—just sort of looks at him like he's trying to read him.

“Okay,” he says, after a beat and pulls his jammers down, and Makoto whips his head up to look at him, green eyes wide.

“Really?” he asks hesitantly, and hastily takes the jammers when Haru tosses it to him, doing everything he can not to look too far down as Haru stands there, waiting patiently for Makoto to hand him the other pair—which he scrambles to hand him, cheeks flushed as he can't help but sneak a peak.

Haru just gives a small smirk before pulling the shorter pair on while Makoto pulls on the longer pair, wincing a little as he plucks idly at the too-tight material at his thigh.

“Makoto?” Haru says suddenly, and this time, Makoto looks up without hesitation, forcing his hands to stop sliding self-consciously over his thighs and twining his fingers firmly together to still them.

“Yeah?”

“We're going to talk about this after practice,” Haru says, firmly, leaving no room for doubt in Makoto's mind that as soon as practice is over Haru's going to be bring the questions.

“Right,” Makoto replies quietly, unable to meet Haru's eyes, but then there's a hand reaching out to him and Makoto takes it, letting Haru pull him to his feet and following him out the door.

Of course, practice breezes by, and before Gou can so much as bid them goodbye, Haru's got Makoto by the hand again and is whisking him off, leading him back to the locker rooms and ignoring the confused sounds and questions from the rest of their team. 

Makoto glances back over his shoulder to glimpse Rei's and Gou's worried faces, and Nagisa's skeptical one. But then they're through the doors to the locker rooms and Haru's nearly pulling him to the showers.

“Haru,” Makoto starts, but Haru doesn't reply, steering Makoto into a stall and promptly flicking the water on, sending hot water cascading down them.

“Talk,” Haru says, seriously, and Makoto distantly registers that Haru's got a good grip on his shoulders, as if he can make himself seem more commandeering—but the funny part is he doesn't even have to try; Haru already knows, has always known Makoto won't deny telling him anything, so long as he asks.

“Haru,” Makoto tries, weakly, staring down at his boyfriend with wide green eyes. Haru gazes straight back up at him, blue eyes unwavering.

“What's going on?” Haru asks, his gaze searching Makoto's face as if he can find an answer. “You've been weird. Since the muscle competition.” Makoto winces, because _of course_ he’s made the connection, he’s _Haru_ \--he’s perceptive.

“Haru, there's nothing--” Makoto starts to protest, but Haru isn't having it.

“I can understand not wanting to wear Nagisa's weird penguin speedo, but what was wrong with the other suit?” he asks, his eyes never leaving Makoto's.

“I…”

“What was wrong with winning the contest?” Haru tacks on, and Makoto’s shoulders slump in defeat, because Haru’s catching on way faster than he can come up with any excuses. So he really doesn’t have a choice but to tell him.

“I don't...” Makoto's eyes drop to the tiled floor immediately at the question—but one of Haru's hands rises to cup his face, tilting his face towards his.

“You don't,” Haru prompts, but his face is soft, now, concerned; and it's enough for Makoto to clear his throat and try again.

“I don't like. Um. Hah,” Makoto huffs a soft laugh that's nearly drowned out by the rush of water falling around them. “It's stupid. You wouldn't believe me,” he mutters, but Haru just _tsks_ and rolls his eyes.

“Makoto, you're the worst liar I know, I think I'll believe you if you're telling the truth,” Haru grumbles, brushing his knuckles along the curve of Makoto's jaw affectionately. And Makto laughs again, a bit more genuine this time.

“I guess. Yeah, so.” Makoto stops, breathes, tries again. “So, I don't like my legs.”

Haru's hand freezes where it's started carding through Makoto's dripping hair. “I'm sorry?”

It feels like all the air rushes out of Makoto's body with the exasperated sigh he lets out. “I told you it was stupid,” he murmurs, and it's as if his words shock Haru into action.

“No, Makoto—I just—I believe you, _fuck,_ I'm sorry, I didn't mean--” Haru’s agitated now, scrubbing a hand over his face. Makoto can’t help but smile. He’s so cute.

“Haru, it's okay,” Makoto laughs—he's honestly more amused than anything right now, because it's been a while since he's seen Haru so flabbergasted. “I didn't expect you to get it.”

“No, no no,” Haru interrupts. “I,” and then he pauses, blinks rapidly, opens and closes his mouth before he starts again. “I _can't believe it,_ ” he says after moment, dumbstruck.

Makoto stares.

“God, I sound like an ass,” Haru groans, covering his eyes with the heels of his palms before grasping Makoto's face to tug him down into a searing kiss. Makoto makes a muffled sound against his lips, but is more than happy to kiss him back, confused as he is.

“Haru?” Makoto pants, staring at his boyfriend questioningly when Haru breaks away once he's kissed him sufficiently breathless.

“I'm sorry, Makoto,” he repeats, arching up on tiptoes to rest his forehead against Makoto's, sighing against his lips. “I wish I was better with words, but I'm really not. So I'll just try my best. You're right. As usual,” he admits, huffing a laugh while Makoto just blinks, confused.

“I can't believe you don't like. Your legs. _I believe you,_ ” he says, raising his voice when Makoto frowns a little and opens his mouth to interrupt. 

“Makoto, I _believe you_ when you say you don't like them. When I say, _'I can't,'_ I mean _I cannot honestly believe_ that you don't like them. Makoto, you're the hottest thing I've ever seen. You are _literally_ the only person I have ever been interested in. How could I have ever wanted anyone else, when I always had you?” Haru asks earnestly, hands sliding down to rest at the small of Makoto's back.

Makoto's face feels like it's on fire, but he's still wringing his hands anxiously. “But they're so...”

“They’re so _what?”_ Haru asks incredulously, his surprised expression melting away in the next instant with affection, and he reaches out to grasp Makoto's hands, holding them tight.

“Makoto, I love _every single inch_ of you. What part of you do I need to prove is gorgeous?” he asks seriously, holding Makoto's gaze as he slowly sinks down to the tiled floor despite Makoto's squeak of _“Haru what are you doing?!”_ as he stumbles back to press against the wall of the tiny stall.

“Is it your feet?” Haru asks, and then _he actually_ grasps one of Makoto's feet, grasping his ankle and slowly, deliberately raising it to press a kiss to the top of it.

“I love your feet, Makoto, I even love them when you press them against my legs in the morning and they're like fucking ice. _That's_ love.” Makoto gives a small, watery giggle at that as Haru smooches his way up Makoto's shin, before pressing a kiss to Makoto's knee, at the skin just beneath the hem of the bottom of his temporary jammers.

“Is it your knees? I think they're the cutest knees I've ever seen. I think they're the sexiest, too, because you look so good when you're down on them.” Haru ignores the scandalized laugh of _“Haru!”_ that earns him as he plants a kiss on each of his boyfriend's knees instead, and then he turns his gaze back up to Makoto's, blinking the water away as it falls into his eyes.

“Is it your thighs--” Haru's eyes widen as Makoto immediately looks away and the smile struggling its way onto his lips drops clean off. “Makoto, you don't like your _thighs?”_ Haru breathes, and his voice is so small that Makoto _can't_ not look at him, and he tears his eyes away from the chipping tile of the ceiling to glance back down at his best friend.

Haru looks, for lack of a better word, _crushed._ And Makoto feels _horrible_ for putting that look on his face.

“Haru, it's fine,” Makoto says weakly, reaching down to comb his fingers through Haru's hair, but the other boy is still stunned silent, so he continues. “No one likes everything about themselves, this is just--”

“Let me convince you,” Haru says more than asks, and Makoto shuts his mouth with a soft _clack_ of teeth, staring down uncertainly at his boyfriend. Haru is looking up at him, blue eyes pleading, and Makoto realizes despite the certainty and authority in Haru's tone it's still a question—this is Haru asking for permission for, for something.

Makoto bites his lip and looks away. “What are you going to say?” he asks slowly, quietly. “Haru, what are you going to tell me that I haven't tried telling myself for years?” Makoto asks, sadness creeping into his voice because he honestly can't fathom what Haru's going to try to say that he hasn't heard before from the logical side of his brain--

“I'm not going to say anything.” Makoto's head whips up from where he's tucked his chin against his chest, curling into himself, and he stares at Haru uncomprehendingly. Haru looks completely serious. 

“I never said I was going to say anything. I just asked you to let me show you. I told you before, I suck with words. That's okay, though, because I can show you what I think about them,” he says confidently, and Makoto bites his lip again, harder than before as his mind races, trying to figure out what Haru can possibly mean.

“Okay,” he whispers at last, and he doubts Haru can hear it over the water, but he must read his lips because Haru's up on his feet in an instant (fast enough that Makoto worries for a moment that he's going to slip) and pressing him into the cold, tile wall as he kisses him feverishly, hands tangling in his brown hair and body warm and slick against his own.

Makoto makes a small sound against Haru's mouth as he kisses back tentatively, eyes sliding closed as he tilts his head and parts his lips when he feels Haru's tongue against them, asking for entrance. Haru groans into his mouth, something that feels more than sounds like his name, and Makoto whimpers back when Haru's teeth trap his lower lip before he sucks at it gently.

“Haru,” Makoto moans weakly, and he wants nothing more than to hide his scarlet face in his hands as he watches a string of saliva break and spatter against Haru's lips, _“Haru,_ we can't _do_ this kind of thing here, not--”

“Please, Makoto,” Haru actually begs, and it makes Makoto's words catch in his throat. “I can't stand letting you walk out of here before I can show you how beautiful you are, all of you.”

 _“Haru-chan,”_ Makoto chokes, a hand flying up to cover his mouth, because that's undoubtedly one of the most romantic things to ever come out of his incredibly blunt boyfriend's mouth, and how can he say no to Haru when he's gazing at him so imploringly he looks like he's on the verge of tears himself.

“Makoto,” Haru pleads again, hands curling tighter into Makoto's hair and Makoto can feel him shaking a little (or maybe that's just himself) but he can't fight the reluctant smile that fights its way onto his face. Because as much as Haru wants this, wants this badly enough that he's begging for it, he won't do this unless Makoto says it's okay.

God, he loves this boy.

“Okay, Haru,” Makoto blurts out breathlessly, and Haru freezes for all of two seconds before he's pulling Makoto back in for another kiss, and it feels like Haru's trying to kiss the living daylights out of him. It's all Makoto can do to keep up with Haru's frantic pace, and he gasps against Haru's mouth, doing his very best to stifle the whimpers that rise up in his throat at the fervent attention.

It's enough to distract him from Haru's hands letting go of his hair.

It's somehow enough to distract him from Haru managing to finagle his jammers down his legs.

It's not, however, enough to distract him from Haru's hands on the waistline of his jammers, and his hands firmly catch Haru's wrists in an instant.

“Haru,” Makoto squeaks again, uncertainly, green eyes wide and anxious as they flicker between Haru's hands and his boyfriend's erection, and he squirms against his place backed against the wall, unable to deny his own growing arousal. “I d-don't— _I really **really**_ don't think we can do _**that**_ here, I still have to walk the twins home--”

 _“Trust me,_ Makoto,” Haru sighs, sliding his lips from the corner of Makoto's lips to his ear, and he mouths at the lobe before scraping gently against the shell with his teeth.

And Makoto does, letting go of Haru's hands, and bracing himself against the tiled wall, turning his head away with an almost anguished sound as Haru bends down to roll his jammers down, gently easing each of Makoto's feet out of each leg-hole.

“Makoto,” Haru breathes, but Makoto can't, _won't_ open his eyes, because he hates them, he _hates_ his thighs, hates that Haru's looking at them, right now, in full view beneath the awful lighting of the showers.

“They're too bulky,” Makoto blurts out before snapping his mouth back shut with an audible _click,_ and he wants to smash his head back against the wall behind him. Because now Haru _will_ see, Haru's going to _notice_ how ugly they are, and he won't unsee it, and--

“What are you talking about?” Haru asks slowly, and Makoto bravely cracks on green eye open to try and catch a glimpse of Haru's face. “They're perfect. _You're_ perfect.”

Haru's too busy looking Makoto's entire body up and down with something bordering on reverence to notice Makoto sneaking a peek at him. “Fuck, Makoto,” he mutters suddenly enough to make Makoto jump a bit, still unnerved to be on full display for his boyfriend. “When's the last time I really looked you over?”

Makoto's heart sinks a bit, and he ducks his head as tears prick his eyes, embarrassed, and he opens his mouth because he wants to apologize, to say he's sorry he's not good enough, not what Haru thought—

“How do you manage to get even more gorgeous without me noticing?”

Makoto's words stick in his throat and he gawks at Haru, and Haru...he looks like he's drinking his image in, like he's trying to commit it to memory, and Makoto. Makoto doesn't get it.

“I don't look like a swimmer, not like the rest of you,” Makoto mumbles, and Haru's eyes snap up to meet Makoto's, one eyebrow slowly arching.

“Good,” he replies, and Makoto doesn't really know how to reply to that, so he closes his mouth where it's hanging open.

“'Good?'” Makoto repeats incredulously, because he couldn't have heard that right, he just _told_ Haru his biggest insecurity, the niggling thought that's made him feel ashamed for so long, and all Haru can say is _good?_

“I don't understand,” Makoto breathes, and his knees are on the verge of buckling because he's so confused, so lost--and Haru's hands drop to his hips to steady him, and he makes a face when Makoto flinches at the contact. _“Why?_ I'm not like you guys—not like _you, you're_ the gorgeous one, I'm too big, I'm awkward, I'm not _like_ \--”

“And thank god for that, Makaoto,” Haru repeats stubbornly. “I don't want you to be like me, _'like the rest of us._ ' You're not _awkward,_ you're not _bulky_ ; you're _Makoto_ and you’re mine and I love you just the way you are.”

Makoto can't open his mouth to respond, because if he does, he's going to burst into tears, so he settles for pressing his face into the slick, warm crook of Haru's neck and breathing shakily in as Haru's hands caress down his sides until his fingertips are dragging over his thighs.

Makoto shudders beneath the touch, not used to Haru paying any particular attention there.

"Makoto," Haru hums--purrs, really--as he grabs softly at the wide part of Makoto's thighs, and the taller swimmer shifts awkwardly, "God, Makoto, if you could only see how I see you. You're so sexy. I love your thighs," he half moans, half sighs kissing a lazy, open mouthed trail along the curve of Makoto's neck and shoulder as he smooths his palms up and down Makoto’s flesh.

"You think they're too big? Well you haven't seen yourself swimming--you look so good, kicking though the water. You're so fast, so strong, you don’t have _any idea_ what you do to me," Haru murmurs against Makoto’s clavicle, before licking a hot strip back up to Makoto’s jaw to mouth there, drawing a mewl of pleasure from the green-eyed boy pinned against him.

“And, fuck, that’s when you’re just wearing your usual jammers,” Haru groans, nipping almost accusingly at Makoto’s lobe and it’s all Makoto can do not to yelp too loud. “Did you have any idea that I couldn’t tear my eyes off you today? That I couldn’t stop staring at your legs all practice?”

“I,” Makoto pants, but he breaks off with a whine when Haru’s teeth drag against his Adam’s apple, and he swallows hard, biting his lip. It doesn’t seem Haru was really expecting a response anyway, though, because he keeps talking.

“Makoto, that suit was so sinfully tight on you, _Nagisa_ was goggling you during your times. It left fucking _nothing_ to the imagination,” Haru says, and Makoto gasps a weak laugh at the way he feel Haru’s scowl against his throat before he sucks in a sharp breath as Haru starts sucking a suitably possessive mark there.

And Makoto doesn’t have the heart to protest, not when Haru’s doing such an incredible job shattering the insecurity that lingered all through practice, that he’d _known_ he’d felt eyes on him during his times, and he’s _so fucking grateful_ to know it wasn’t because they thought badly of him.

But why would any of that matter, Makoto wonders suddenly, why would anyone else’s opinion matter, when he can do _this_ to Haru without meaning to?--and realization slams home as Haru mouths at a particularly sensitive spot on his neck.

If he’s good enough for Haru, he has no reason to be worried. Anything that’s good enough for Haru has _always_ been more than good enough for himself, as well. There’s nothing else to worry about. No one else to worry about. 

No one else matters.

He can be _such an idiot._

“You’re an idiot,” Haru sighs fondly, as if he’s reading Makoto’s mind, and it’s enough to startle a giggle from the brunet--and Haru pulls back, blinking water from his eyes, where it’s dripping steadily from his damp fringe, but a small, reluctant matching smile touches his lips as he gazes up into his lover’s face and he reaches up with one hand to cup the back of Makoto’s head to bring him into the softest kiss they’ve shared since they came into the showers.

“But I love you,” Haru says as they break apart for breath, and his blue, blue eyes meet Makoto’s, searching his gaze as if to make sure he knows he’s being heard.

“I love you too, Haru-chan,” Makoto says, voice thick with emotion, and he gasps as Haru’s hands slide down to slide past his belly, his straining erection, his hips, and finally stop to grope gently at the supple skin of his thighs, quivering with tension as Makoto struggles not to instinctively shy away.

“Trust me,” Haru asks casually, eyes never wavering from Makoto’s--so that the taller swimmer can see that Haru’s still asking permission, double, triple checking to make sure Makoto’s alright with him taking things further--and honestly, Makoto’s always been shit at saying no to Haru even when he’s dubious about whatever it is his boyfriend’s thinking of. 

How does he possibly stand a chance at saying no to him when he wants him so _fucking_ bad?

“Always,” he replies, barely above a whispers, but Haru’s eyes somehow brighten and grow darker all at once--wide, briefly, with delight, before he’s gazing hungrily down through his lashes with want.

“Turn around,” Haru says, confidently, and Makoto shakily obeys, nervously licking away beads of water from his lips as he turns away, freezing up a little when Haru’s hands grasp his wrists and guide his hands up to the wall, firmly planting them flat against the cool tile and holding them they briefly before his own fall away.

They’re not off of Makoto’s body for long, because it’s only a heartbeat later before Makoto feels his boyfriend’s hands grasping at his hips, back and thighs, shifting him around and nudging his feet gently together, until Makoto’s blinking at the tile in confusion as he’s standing braced against the stall with his legs pressed together.

He tenses when he feels Haru’s hands finally settle on his hips and his boyfriend press flush up against his back. “Haru?” he asks hesitantly, starting to turn his head around to glance uncertainty over his shoulder, but Haru leans in and presses his lips to his cheek reassuring, murmuring a “don’t move” against his ear that makes him squirm but keeps him facing forward, his eyes dropping to the floor and then--

“ _Oh_ \--oh, _Haru, **oh** ,_” Makoto gasps, breath hitching sharply, almost painfully as Haru presses his cock between Makoto’s thighs, and he jerks at the muffled _“fuck”_ Haru bites into his nape. 

Makoto’s hands scrabble weakly against the tile as Haru starts to rock back and forth, just a little, enough for the head of his cock to slide back and forth between Makoto’s legs, and Makoto’s head falls forward with a whimper.

“I wanted to do this all. fucking. practice,” Haru grits out, and Makoto swallows an embarrassingly loud moan as Haru’s nails dig into his hips. 

“Wanted to fuck your thighs, wanted to rip my jammers off you and run my hands all over them. Makoto, _god,_ you’re so fucking beautiful it drives me crazy. You make me want to do all sorts of things to you,” he breathes against Makoto’s slick skin, still rocking gently forward; creating just enough friction to take the edge off. He groans low in his throat when the brunet clenches his muscles tighter, making Haru’s eyes flutter shut against the _fuck **so** good_ tight heat of Makoto’s thighs.

 _“Haru,”_ Makoto chokes out, clenching his eyes shut and pressing his cheek against the cool tile of the wall, trying to seek relief for his burning face, and he forces himself to take a shuddering breath in and out, steadying himself before he tentatively cants his hips back towards Haru.

Haru bites back an overwhelmed groan at the wave of pleasure the minute motion draws, and he gingerly slides back, back—until he's nearly all the way out, with just the head of his cock still tucked firmly between Makoto's quivering thighs before pushing quickly back in, his head falling back onto his shoulders as he breathes out a curse.

 _“Fuck,_ Haru,” Makoto whimpers, his fingers curling slightly where they're pressed flat against the tiled wall for purchase at the way he can feel Haru's cock twitching with interest between his legs. It's all he can do not to whine right out loud when Haru starts to desperately grind against his ass with each thrust forward.

“God, Makoto,” Haru grits out, and his hands grip tight, _tighter_ at Makotos' hips, hard enough that Makoto suspects there'll be bruises there by the time they start walking home _and god damn_ if the thought doesn't make him burn hotter than ever with want.

“Makoto. _Makoto,”_ Haru repeats with every gasp like a mantra, his voice getting higher and breathier with each pant--and then one of his slick hands slides from Makoto’s hip, past his abs and wraps firmly around his own neglected erection, making the brunet grapple desperately at the wall for purchase as his knees nearly give out with relief.

“You feel _amazing,_ Makoto, all over, _everywhere,”_ Haru nearly growls out, in a voice that's nearly twice as deep as Makoto's ever heard it and he shivers, panting shallowly as he struggles to arch back to keep meeting Haru's thrusts dead on, but yearning to buck forward into Haru's talented fingers.

Makoto _wants_ to say something, _anything_ —wants to tell Haru he makes him feel amazing, too, but he knows that if he opens his mouth from where it’s clenched tightly shut, he’s going to _scream;_ and this _really_ isn’t the place for that, they’re being risky enough as it is.

“You make me feel so good, you’re so _tight_ around me— _fuck,_ Makoto, you make me so...” Haru trails off, biting down hard on his lower lip as a spasm of pleasure rushes through him, and seems to give up on words, instead dropping his head to mash his face against the nape of Makoto's neck as he clenches his jaw and starts seeking his pleasure in earnest.

Makoto realizes how close Haru is when he doesn’t even bother pulling out to push back into his thighs anymore; settling for just grinding into the tight space provided between Makoto's legs—and Makoto realizes he’s about to lose it too, when, strained, hoarse cries start escaping Haru’s throat whenever Makoto's legs tense to try and maintain his balance.

“Makoto--” Haru's voice breaks back in suddenly, albeit weakly, and Makoto's green eyes flutter halfway open as he cranes his head to gaze dazedly back into his boyfriend's dripping, flushed face, eyes drawn to the little rivulets of water running down his nose and chin from his sopping wet bangs.

Whatever Haru sees on his face must be too much for him, because Haru's hips jerk forward as his head snaps, his teeth clenched against a hoarse shout of Makoto’s name as he comes hard,

Makoto's head drops back down so he can watch in dazed fascination at the sticky white mess dripping down his legs only to be promptly washed down the drain—but then he nearly collapses as Haru’s hand starts expertly pumping his cock in earnest once more.

He’s grateful for the other arm that snakes around his waist and the sure weight of Haru pressing up behind him, pinning him firmly against the wall and he gives into his need as he feels his own climax racing towards him, one arm bracing against the wall for leverage as he frantically bucks into Haru’s hand, his other hand plastered to his mouth as he cries helplessly against his palm in pleasure, panting noisily for breath through his nose.

“Gorgeous,” Haru breathes against his ear, almost reverently, and the word alone is enough to send Makoto over the edge, arching painfully forward as he comes into Haru’s palm with a muffled sob, hips jerking spastically as Haru’s hand continues to stroke him quickly, firmly, until he gives a sharp gasp that makes him immediately stop, lets him know it’s too much. 

Then, Haru just rinses his hand beneath the (by now, rapidly cooling) spray before he wraps his other arm around Makoto’s middle as well, holding his panting, shuddering boyfriend close as he struggles to catches his breath.

“Wow,” Makoto manages to squeak out at last as he lifts his head, and Haru lets out of soft snort of amusement, eyes soft as they meet Makoto’s bashful green gaze.

“Yeah,” Haru agrees amiably, “that was pretty wow.”

“You,” Makoto stops, and swallows before trying again in a soft rush, “youreallythinkthey’reok?”

Haru’s eyes soften, and he knocks his forehead lightly into Makoto’s before replying. “Makoto, I wouldn’t change anything about you for the world.”

  
 _**Bonus** _

There’s a few beats of silence, before:

“Guys, inquiring minds need to know--where would you guys rate that wow on a scale from one to ten?” Nagisa’s voice calls, echoing tinnily down the tiled corridor, accompanied by frantic _shushes._

“I’d give it an twenty, _fuck you very much,”_ Haru calls back dryly, to Makoto’s horror, and somehow all Makoto can think, from the desperate, dying whale noises Rei’s making that aren’t too far off from his own as he buries his face in his hands and sinks to his knees in dismay, in a last ditch effort to try and melt into a puddle of embarassment down the drain, is that he and Rei are officially _way too bonded._

**Author's Note:**

> Yaaay I added something new and exciting that wasn't already published for like months on FFnet HAPPY BIRTHDAY YOU BEAUTIFUL ANGEL MAKOTO I LOVE YOU HARD I hope you liked it guys I tried so hard to get this done in time this fic happened in like maybe 24 hours, max /flees


End file.
